


Extra Shards

by westernredcedar



Series: Shards [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon from Jack's POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:04:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8805487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernredcedar/pseuds/westernredcedar
Summary: After the initial surprise, Bitty hugs Jack for a moment, in the crowd. But honestly, he hugs everyone.  More random scenes of canon from Jack's POV.





	1. Oven

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a haphazard collection of ficlets that I will post as I write them, so they will not be in any particular order. For example, the first few I plan to do are scenes that I skipped in canon when I wrote Shards originally, but that I still want to try, so these will bounce all over in time, etc. A potpourri of ficlets, you might say.
> 
> I still plan to someday continue the series into Junior year, but that's still coming...
> 
> ETA: Started the next part, so I've officially marked this as complete...however, I reserve the right to revisit early canon and add to this set of ficlets whenever! *nods*

Ransom collects the money and produces an impressive spreadsheet, including budget, dimensions, and possible features. Holster, Lardo, and Dex actually research, select, and purchase the oven. Shitty takes over as maestro of the entire delivery and installation process. Chowder volunteers for distraction duties, and invites Bitty on a long run with the reward of eventually buying him a birthday iced vanilla latte. The rest of the team shows up for the party. 

In the end, Jack doesn’t actually have much of anything to do. 

He brings his camera down and lingers on the periphery of the crowd as they wait for Bitty and Chowder to return. He’s oddly keyed up, skin itchy and muscles jumpy. After two half-assed attempts, he determines that making small talk is impossible, and retreats even further into the corner.

It’s not long before they hear Chowder loudly rattling the front door and the crowd falls into a hushed quiet. 

Jack fails to get a good shot of Bitty at the moment he first sees the oven, like he’d hoped he could. He’s too far away, for one, but mostly, he simply doesn’t remember to lift his camera. He’s looking at Bitty instead, can’t really stop himself; Jack’s utterly immobilized by the ridiculous, beautiful joy shining off of him. 

After the initial surprise, Bitty hugs Jack for a moment, in the crowd. But honestly, he hugs everyone. 

*

 **Lardo** _can I tell Bits this was all your idea?_

 **Jack** _Why?_

 **Lardo** _because it was_

 **Jack** _It’s a gift from all of us._

 **Lardo** _whatever. I’m telling him._

 **Lardo** _where are you, anyway_

 **Lardo** _Jack?_

*

Jack can hear Lardo on the stairs, her deep voiced, “Jack?” floating up ahead of her. He doesn’t mean to be hiding, his door isn’t even closed, but being in his room just seemed easier. 

Lardo’s face appears, peeking around his door frame. 

“There you are, Zimmermann. Bits and I are looking for you.”

Jack’s sitting on his bed, but he pulls himself up, hoping he might look like he was not settling in to stay. “Sorry I left. I needed to get something.”

Lardo looks at him, her expression doubtful. “Sure. Okay.”

She doesn’t say anything else, but comes in without asking and settles onto the bed next to him, leaning her back against the wall. Jack sighs. He can feel how much Lardo wants to say something, and is stopping herself. The room is full of unspoken words. 

Finally, Lardo turns her head and looks at him, says, “You know, it’s okay Jack.”

Jack can’t look at her. He tries to imagine what she might mean, besides what he thinks she means. He closes his eyes. 

“It’s all okay.”

His breath is shallow and he feels a little floaty and unreal. She’s right there, and she might even have him entirely figured out. He opens his mouth to say something, just start talking ( _“What’s okay?”_ ), but then there are pounding footsteps in the hall.

“Jack Zimmermann!” Bitty is at the door suddenly, filling the room all the way up with his giddy energy. “There you are!”

Lardo hops up off the bed, her voice transformed back to dry and sarcastic. “Hey Bits. Found him.”

“Where did you run off to? Lardo told me this entire thing was your idea?” Bitty’s face is still flushed and pink with excitement as he steps into the room. 

“Not really. Everyone in the Haus was thinking it, I'm sure,” Jack says, trying to control the shake in his voice.

“Well,” Bitty pings a glance over to Lardo, his gaze questioning, “whatever happened, thank you, Jack. It’s honestly...well, it’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever been given. I mean, my mama tries, but this...this it just too much.”

“You deserve it, Bittle.” Jack manages a smile. 

“Oh lord, I cannot imagine why!”

“According to Rans, we owe you two more ovens eventually,” Lardo says, as she sidles out the door. 

Bitty laughs and calls out after her, “Watch out, I’ll remember that!” Rather than follow her, though, Bitty sighs and leans against the door frame to stay awhile, and Jack feels the air in the room rearrange now that they are alone. “So, Mr. Zimmermann. Almost everyone has gone. I’m heading over to Murder Stop and Shop for ingredients to inaugurate dear Betsy Junior. Name pending.”

“What are you baking first?” Jack asks, still trying to regain his equilibrium.

“Well, I was originally thinking classic apple, because nothing says welcome to the family like that perfect mix of cinnamon and nutmeg.” Here, Bitty’s voice drops a bit, and he looks right at Jack with those big brown eyes. “But then Lardo told me whose idea the new oven even was, and well, now I’m thinking maybe I should consider more along the lines of a nice rack of lamb?” 

Jack feels his cheeks heat. “Are you?” 

“Lean protein, right, captain? It’s the least I can do to say thank you.” 

Jack can’t say anything, can hardly breathe. 

"Wanna come along to shop with me?"

"No, I should, um...finish up here," Jack says lamely. He's just sitting on his bed. It sounds like a lie, even to him.

Bittle frowns for a moment, but then he only shrugs and says, "Oh. Well then, maybe I can get your help later, lazy bones." He smiles and turns to leave. 

With a jolt, all of the clogged nerves in Jack's body fire at once and force him to speak. 

"Wait! Bittle!"

Bitty turns back to Jack, startled. 

"I'll come with you now. Shopping."

"Yeah?" Bitty's face lights up again, and Jack wishes, with all his being, that he had taken that shot of Bitty earlier, just to have that bright expression captured on film, forever. 

"Lamb is my favorite. I might...have opinions," Jack manages, and he can breathe a little easier. 

Bitty grins. "Then it's you and me, Jack."

His words linger in Jack's mind for the rest of the afternoon.


	2. Hazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback to Bitty's hazing his freshman year. In canon, it would take place around year 1, episode 5. In Shards, it would be between Kitchen and Dartmouth. I meant to write this originally and then just completely forgot. Onto the silliness.

“It’s your job as the fucking captain, Jack. You can’t leave this to your underlings. We are weak and powerless without you. You are our totem animal, dare I say it, our spirit guide.” Shitty is failing to be convincing, mostly due to the fact that he is standing in Jack’s room, begging, wearing only loose boxers and a pair of pink flip-flops.

“I’m no good at it, Shitty.”

“Brah, you don’t need to be good. You just need to be _there_. Stand at the back, cross your arms, and glare.” Shitty looks Jack up and down for a moment. “Just exactly the fuck like that. You’re doing it now.”

Jack let’s his arms fall to his sides. “I can’t. I need to sleep.”

“Shiiit. You sleep every night, Jack. This is _Hazeapalooza_. It’s once a year. Our sweet little frogs need to be properly fucked up and made chilly.”

Jack had reluctantly helped Shitty and Mayster organize the year before, and announced at the time that he was not going to be part of it again. He’d never been hazed himself, and didn’t really see the fun in it. But now they are juniors, and the seniors are all lost to girlfriends or off-campus living or being Johnson, and Jack is stuck with a mostly naked Shitty threatening to tear off his own boxers and sit on Jack’s bed if Jack doesn’t agree to at least show up. 

“Fine.”

Shitty throws his hands up in glee. “Thank you, oh gentle spirit of all hockey bros.” He slings an arm around Jack’s shoulders and plants a wet kiss on his cheek. “So. Tomorrow night. Wake up call, midnight. I’ll come a-knockin’. Be ready.”

Jack is never quite sure how Shitty manages to get away with everything.

*

There are seven freshman on the team this year, spread all around campus in various dorms. Shitty prints up a list and assigns pairs of upperclassmen to retrieve them in the wee hours of the night. 

“There will be waking-the-roommate collateral damage,” Shitty announces as he paces the Haus living room like a General and passes out their assignments. “We can send gift baskets tomorrow if warranted.”

Jack and Rans are sent to East Quad to retrieve the speedy little pie baker. Bittle. Jack briefly tries to think of a reason to ask Shitty to switch him to another frog, but he can’t think of one that doesn’t sound make him sound like an utter asshole. They head out.

Ransom agrees to take the lead, since Jack is as enthusiastic about this job as he is about messing up his diet or skipping a skate. “I’ve got this, Jack. You linger nearby and look scary.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Jack asks, but Ransom just laughs and checks him on the shoulder and doesn’t seem to know that Jack is actually curious.

The dorms are reassuringly the same as always: a smelly mess of bodies, patchouli, and shower products, flyers tacked up on the walls, doors covered in dry erase pen messages. Bittle and his roommate are at the corner of the Quad, down a long hallway. 

“Wakey-wakes! Rise and shine!” Ransom says, pounding on the door to the room. Jack looks at his watch and sighs. It’s one a.m.

There are some muffled bumps and groans from behind the door, and then a tall, skinny kid with a mop of curly hair answers. “What the hell? Who are you?”

Jack folds his arms. Ransom is not phased for a moment. “Pardon the interruption, sir. We are here to collect one Eric Bittle? Do you know the young fellow?”

“The fuck? Eric, it’s for you.” 

Sleepy voice, that lilt. “Oh lord, just a moment.”

Ransom pushes in the door and his voice shifts dramatically from British aristocrat to drill sargeant. “No _moment_ , frog. It’s Hazeapalooza. Tonight you are going to be reborn into your new life as a Samwell men’s hockey player. So up and out!”

“Ooo, Brian, sorry, I’m getting hazed!” Jack can’t see into the room, but Bittle does not sound particularly worried. “Where are my manners? Brian, this is my teammate, Justin. Justin, Brian.” 

Jack can’t hear any response except a loud grunt from the roommate side of the dorm. 

“Hold up, I just need to get my socks on,” Bittle says, and Rans let's out a huff of annoyance (or laughter?) that Jack can hear from all the way out in the hall. 

A sleepy-looking girl peeks her head out a few doors down. Jack tries out his folded arm glare, and it seems to work. She retreats back into her room without asking any questions. 

“Should I bring a toothbrush or a change of clothes? Oh lord,” Bittle is asking as Ransom steers him out of the room and let's the door shut behind them. His hair is a rowdy mess of blonde curls and he’s in pink and purple tartan flannel pajama bottoms, a tiny white t-shirt, and holding a stuffed rabbit. Jack has to look away for a moment. “I’ve simply never been hazed before. Well, I mean...not for fun. This is just a like a movie!” 

Bittle practically runs into Jack at this point. “Oh good lord, Jack!” His chatter dies away and his smile vanishes. Crossed arms and a glare are not even necessary. Jack is very aware that during afternoon skate, he’d lost his patience with Bittle at least twice. 

Ransom points an authoritative finger in Bittle’s face. “Shut it, frog. No toothbrushes, no clothes. This is damn serious business, son.” 

“You listen to him, Bittle,” Jack can’t help adding, suddenly needing this to go differently. “ _Serious._ So serious a bright yellow chicken costume might be involved later.”

Rans looks up (surprised?) and then winks at Jack before falling back into character. “Yo. No spoilers, Cap.”

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Bittle mutters, looking back and forth between them.

“Blindfold time, frog,” Rans says.

*

An hour later, the frogs are four beers in, center ice, in their boxers. Everyone has been variously humiliated including skating at least one lap of the ice dressed as a chicken (Jack wasn’t kidding; Shitty’s creative addition for the year). Jack has settled in on the bench to watch at a distance. He’s never quite figured out how to be the sober one when everyone else is drinking. 

Bittle is holding his own. He’s so small compared to the other frogs, but Jack can’t help but notice he’s in better shape than most of them, trim and muscular. He keeps having to remind himself to watch some of the others as well.

After a while, Shitty slides over to Jack, red cup in hand, his shoes slipping across the ice. Rans and Holster are leading the frogs in a waltz.

“I think we’ll start ‘em back to the Haus soon, bro,” Shitty says, leaning against the boards. 

“Yeah. Bittle is turning blue.” 

Shitty looks back over his shoulder. “That kid has, like, negative zero body fat. I can fucking see through him like he’s transparent.”

“He’s fast though.” 

Shitty looks at him sideways. “Jack, are you sitting over here assessing skating ability during Hazeapalooza?”

“If he can skate like that in a chicken suit, he can bring more to practices. He’s holding back.”

Shitty shakes his head and chuckles. “Jack Zimmermann, you are gold. Solid gold.”

“Shitty, you wanted me to come, and I came."

Shitty slides away, then looks back over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “That sounds dirty, brah."

Jack face gets hot, so he just settles back to watch Bittle again, shivering and trying to waltz with some dude bro who Jack hasn't even bothered to talk to yet. 


	3. L.A.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place just after Epikegster 2014, while Jack is meeting with the Kings in L.A. after fleeing from the Haus the morning after the party. In Shards, it would take place between 'Pills' and 'Photography'.  
> Totally inspired by new canon about what the Zimmermanns knew about Parse and Jack.

Jack’s been in Los Angeles for forty-eight hours. It’s seventy degrees on December 22. The Kings have put him up in a suite downtown, where he’s mostly felt small and out of place in the overwrought decor. Between the sun, the unfamiliar surroundings, and the odd events the night before he left the Haus, he almost feels like he’s time travelled, or like nothing happening in these two strange days has been real. The trip has been saved by one entertaining dinner with Maman’s old film friends Jeremy and Cole and their kids at their cozy house in Silver Lake and by the fact that he is away from Samwell and Parse and can catch his breath. 

He’s packing up to meet the car back to the airport when his text alert buzzes.

 **Papa** _[How was the meeting?]_

 **Jack** _[I like the facility. I’m not sure about L.A.]_

 **Papa** _[We’ll talk more when you arrive. We are making a roast the size of a small moose that will be waiting for you.]_

 **Jack** _[Perfect. Thank you. I’ll be so glad to be home.]_

 **Papa** _[Everything okay? Anything worrying you?]_

Jack thinks about that question for a moment while he packs up his toiletries in the echoing bathroom. Not much is okay, really, but Jack is smart enough to know he can’t say that without starting a panic at the Zimmermann home. 

**Jack** _Non. Ça va._

There’s no response from his father, so Jack puts his phone back on the charger for a moment (he wants a 100% charge for the trip to Montreal) and finishes his search around the bedroom for any lost socks, all the while thinking about what it would be like to live in L.A. next year, going for runs past palm trees while wearing shorts in December. Just thinking about it feels so wrong to him that it's almost like picturing a movie about himself, starring someone else. No, he’s not signing with the Kings. 

Jack’s zipping up his carry-on when his text alert sounds again. Jack picks it up, hoping for a grounding message from the boys in group chat. A chirp. Anything real. But it's his father again.

 **Papa** _[So, we heard Kent came to visit.]_

Jack’s heart jumps into the throat. What the hell?

 **Jack** _[How did you hear that?]_

 **Papa** _Maman. Twitter._

His mother is on Twitter? Crisse.

 **Papa** _[Are you two getting along? We just hope you are well.]_

Jack can hear his father's panic and worry, even through the opaque wall of texting. 

**Jack** _[It’s fine, Papa. We had a fight, but it is fine. I will tell you more at home. Don’t worry.]_

 **Papa** _[I just wondered if he was]_

 **Papa** _[back in your life.]_

Oh god. Jack is right back in his room at Samwell for a moment, Kenny’s hands warm against the skin of his stomach, his lips inches from Jack’s, his voice so sad and his breath warm and familiar against Jack’s skin. It’s scary to know that he can be across the country, across the world, and he’s still perfectly able to feel that. Jack shivers and desperately needs this conversation to be over.

 **Jack** _[No, nothing like that. He just stopped by because he was in Boston for a game. We were having a party at the house.]_

 **Papa** _[Sorry to pry.]_

 **Jack** _[It’s fine. See you at the airport.]_

 **Papa** _[Text when you land.]_

 **Jack** _[I will.]_

Jack shrugs on his (unneccessary) coat, and makes one last, rapid pass of the room, trying to shake off the rush of embarrassed adrenaline that is still coursing through his veins. 

Under a throw pillow in the sitting room, he finds the plastic baggie of cookie crumbs with Bittle’s little note inside. Jack re-reads the note, a tiny piece of solidity in this odd landscape, and finds he's able to breathe again. Without much thought, he tosses the baggie in the trash can. The note he looks at for a long moment, then folds carefully and tucks it away in his wallet for safe keeping. 


End file.
